Brockway opened his eyes very wide. "Knew what?" he said, bluntly. "I only knew it was the thing she wanted to do, and that was enough. Well, we skipped back and notified Mrs. Dunham—she's the chaperon, you know—and then we chased ahead again and got on the engine."
"Where I'll promise you she enjoyed more new sensations in a minute than you had all through their chilly dinner," put in Mrs. Burton, who had ridden on many locomotives.
"She did, indeed," Brockway rejoined, exultantly, living over again the pleasure of the brief hour in the retelling. "At Arriba, the engineer turned the 926 over to me, and I put Miss Vennor up on the box and let her run between Arriba and Red Butte."
"Well—of all things! Do you know, Fred, I've had a silly idea all afternoon that I'd like to help you, but dear me! you don't need my help. Of course, after that, it was all plain sailing for you."
Brockway shook his head. "You're taking entirely too much for granted," he protested. "It was only a pleasant bit of 'distraction,' as she called it, for her, and there was no word—that is I—oh, confound it all! I couldn't presume on a bit of good comradeship like that!"
"You—couldn't—presume! Why, you silly, silly boy, it was the chance of a lifetime! So daringly original—so utterly unhackneyed! And you couldn't presume—I haven't a bit of patience with you."
"I'm sorry for that; I need a little sympathy."
"You don't deserve it; but perhaps you'd get it if you could show cause."
"Can't you see? Don't you understand that nothing can ever come of it?" Brockway demanded, relapsing fathoms deep into the abyss of hopelessness.
"Nothing ever will come of it if you go on squandering your chances as you have to-day. What is the matter with you? Are you afraid of the elderly gentleman with the calculating eye?"